


Turning Tables

by icountcards



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: (both the arguing and the whole fic are Not Serious), (really just one bad pun but it's so bad it deserves the tag), Arguing, Bad Puns, Because I'm A Coward, F/M, Fade to Black, Morning Sex, Not Serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:21:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23389432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icountcards/pseuds/icountcards
Summary: "Are you—" She narrows her eyes. "Are you seriously picking a fight asforeplay, what the fuck, Mac."His expression drops from smug to guilty in a split second, breaking eye contact to stare at the floor. “That depends,” he says, mouth curling back into the tiniest bit of a self-satisfied grin. “Is it working?”
Relationships: Angus MacGyver/Desiree "Desi" Nguyen
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Turning Tables

**Author's Note:**

> Could NOT stop thinking about this concept. I'm sorry/you're welcome.
> 
> Set ambiguously in time, probably somewhere between S3 and S4.

Daylight is just beginning to creep its way into Desi's apartment as she disentangles herself from Mac, still asleep, and pads into the kitchen. She makes it as far as starting coffee before he joins her, quiet footsteps in the hallway alerting her to his presence a few seconds before he cozies up behind her, pressed up against her back with his hands on her hips and his chin on her shoulder. 

"What're you doing?" he mumbles, voice fuzzy with sleep, breath tickling her neck. 

"I was going to make scrambled eggs," she says, twisting away from him to get to the fridge and pull the carton of eggs out. "You want some?" 

He actually manages to look slightly offended by that. "Why would you make scrambled eggs?"

She pauses with the egg she's about to crack hovering above the bowl and gives him a baffled look. "Did you leave your brain behind with your shirt when you got up? I wanted scrambled eggs," she says. 

He looks a little miffed at her dig at his shirtlessness, which, okay, she's not really complaining, he's definitely very attractive like this, sleep-mussed in her kitchen with the morning light casting soft shadows against bare skin, but he's also going to burn himself if he stands too close to her frying pan and he'll only have himself to blame. "Could just fry them and mash them," he says, like that's a perfectly reasonable suggestion and not utterly unhinged. 

"Fry and—Mac, why the fuck would I fry and mash an egg?" She cracks the egg a little too hard and almost sends it splattering across the counter. 

"Scrambling them makes a mess in the pan," he says, with the unshakable confidence of someone who has no idea what he's talking about. 

She rolls her eyes. "It does not," she says. "Not if you actually know how to cook an egg." 

"Just saying," he says, raising his eyebrows, "it makes less of a mess if you fry them."

"I'm not taking cooking advice from someone who routinely sets off the smoke detectors in his house," she snipes. "Besides, it's my pan," she adds as she turns the burner on. "What do you care if I make a mess?"

"Just trying to be helpful," he says, raising his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk on his face says that he _knows_ he's being anything but. She kind of wants to shove her tongue in his mouth just to get him to shut up. 

"Why are you so invested in this?" She glances over her shoulder to fix him with a look that's equal parts confusion and suspicion as she pours her—scrambled—eggs into the pan. 

"All I'm saying is," he says, hovering closer behind her than is really advisable considering how obnoxious he's being, his hands settling on the curve of her waist, "you mix them before you cook them, or you mix them after. It's the same thing."

She turns to glare at him, so close they’re breathing the same air, and he just meets her stare, stupid smug expression like he's somehow won a point in this argument, and she's had just about enough of him crowding into her personal space being hot and annoying, he is _asking_ to get shoved up against something, and—oh. Fuck. That's _exactly_ what he's doing, isn't it, and she's a sucker for almost falling for it. "Are you—" She narrows her eyes. "Are you seriously picking a fight as _foreplay_ , what the fuck, Mac."

His expression drops from smug to guilty in a split second, breaking eye contact to stare at the floor. “That depends,” he says, mouth curling back into the tiniest bit of a self-satisfied grin. “Is it working?” 

“God, you’re so fucking weird,” she says, but she’s already pushing him back against the counter, tangling a hand in his hair to pull him down to kiss him, frantic and messy, and she should probably be mad at Mac for goading her into this and herself for taking the bait, but that’s secondary to the way their bodies fit together as he walks her backwards, blindly, until she collides with the edge of the table, her legs automatically wrapping around him to press them impossibly closer, and there is altogether too much clothing between them right now. 

Mac is on the same page in that regard at least, breaking the kiss to tug her shirt over her head, flares of heat like striking matches dancing across her skin everywhere his hands brush as he grins breathlessly down at her. 

“What?” She squirms a little under the weight of his gaze; she can only handle so much of Mac looking at her like she’s a work of art before the urge to break the moment and make a joke wins out so she doesn’t have to confront what that soft smile does to her heart. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me topless before.” 

“Nothing,” he says, and she doesn’t miss the spark of mischief in his eyes as he drags his hands down her sides to tug at the waistband of her pants. “Just thinking, we should—” 

“If you say one fucking word about tabling this argument I’m going to smother you in your sleep,” she interrupts, even as she tilts her hips off the table to aid and abet in getting her clothes off. 

“I wasn’t going to,” he says, and she can see on his face that he’s lying, but she doesn’t call him on it, just surges upward to seal their mouths together and fumbles at his pants as she kicks hers away, and neither of them have anything coherent to say for a while after that. 

(The eggs burn. Mac spends the rest of the day smugly reminding her that he was right about making a mess and Desi very generously does not point out that it was his fault.) 

(They can have that argument some other time.)

**Author's Note:**

> If you're thinking, "that's a silly and unrealistic thing to argue about," please know that there are some things I could not make up if I tried and it is absolutely based on a true story.
> 
> This has been, uh, kind of outside my comfort zone/what I normally write, so here's hoping I hit the mark with this one.


End file.
